


Misdirections

by tyrusquacks



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, I'm in denial about Andi Mack ending, M/M, T. J. Kippen & Amber Are Siblings, dorks falling in love, they're in NYC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrusquacks/pseuds/tyrusquacks
Summary: “Who was that?” she inquired.“Just some strangers. They were asking me for directions,” he responded, scratching the back of his head. Almost immediately, Andi’s eyebrows shot up.“You? Giving directions?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic ever so pls be nice lol. Also I will be projecting a lot in this fic, sorry in advance.

Cyrus felt like he could kill Andi right now. Despite being far away from her, each stood on the opposite ends of the ridiculously wide street of Broadway, he was certain that the girl was giggling at him. It’s not like she was doing a good job hiding it. Had he not been so embarrassed, Cyrus might have tried to find the humor in the situation. But right now, that was beyond his capability. Instead, his eyes shot daggers at Andi, which he hoped she could feel, while his mind devised all sorts of revenge plots to get back at his friend. The worst part was that it was all entirely Andi’s fault. She knew that Cyrus had very little faith in the drivers of New York City. That he very religiously followed all traffic lights at all times, which, she liked to point out, was not very New Yorker of him.

So why had she egged him along at the intersection, seemingly convinced that 3 seconds would be enough to cross Broadway? Fucking _Broadway_!!!

Of course, it wasn’t enough time. But Andi, who was already a few feet ahead of him, swiftly ran to the other side long after the countdown was over and the red hand on the light had stopped flashing. Almost immediately, impatient drivers began to move forward and aggressively honk at a panicked Cyrus who gave up midway into the street and ran _back_ to the safety of the sidewalk from which he was currently murdering Andi with his stare. If he was being honest with himself, almost no one cared. It was summer. Which meant that the streets of downtown Manhattan were swarming with tourists who were either too engrossed in the scenery of imposing skyscrapers or too fixated on following their map, physical or digital, to notice a certain 16-year-old’s pathetic and failed attempt at crossing a street.

In theory, Cyrus should have overcome his initial anger by now. Except he didn’t, and this irrational bundle of emotions had now only changed target. Cyrus was angry at himself. Anyone else who hadn’t been in his hormone-fueled teenage mind for the past couple of months would find his reaction absurd, and under normal circumstances, it might have been. After all, he had just rationalized himself that what just happened was practically a non-event for all witnesses, of which there were few to none. The truth was, being extremely self-conscious did unspeakable wonders for the teenage brain.

Cyrus was suffering from a very common, yet rarely spoken about ailment known as the spotlight effect. Simply put, he always felt watched, less in a creepy stalker way than bearing the nagging feeling that people around him not only paid attention to what he did but constantly judged his every move. He felt that way in school, at home, on social media, and now on a hot summer day on Broadway. Perhaps this wouldn’t such a bad thing if he felt confident about who he was and what he was doing. But it was quite the opposite. Lately, his thoughts were ridden of judgment about his own lack of a sense of self-accomplishment. And while he had always been a pensive person by nature, he found himself spending increasingly longer periods of time reflecting on all the things that he either had done wrong, hadn’t done at all, or should have been doing.

Unsurprisingly, the prospect of beginning his junior year in a few months and having to start serious conversations with himself, his friends, his parents, and his school officials about college and his “future”―whatever that entailed―had exacerbated this feeling. And if somehow that hadn’t been enough, the disastrous status of his romantic life was also becoming a trusted source of insecurity. Somehow, that’s probably what he felt most guilty about.

Cyrus Goodman has been out as gay to practically everyone he knows since middle school. In the liberal bubble of New York City, his sexuality was never an issue with the people he interacted with on a daily basis, and he was well aware of this privilege. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be something wrong with him when everyone around him was having some kind of romantic experience and he wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t the case, but it definitely felt like it.

In some regards, the environment of nearly automatic acceptance he was is only made things worse. As fucked up as he knew that sounded, he couldn’t even blame homophobia for his lack of romantic encounters. It also didn’t help that living in such a big city, he couldn’t pretend that a lack of possible romantic interests was the thing that was holding him back. It should be the total opposite. In fact, Cyrus believed he had run into more cute boys his age than he could count, and that according to the law of probability and probably some other principles that he had no time for, some of these boys were bound to like other boys. At this point into the endless pit of self-deprecation, the question he would ask was:

_Then why hasn’t any of them liked me yet?_

Before he even had time to mentally go down the preexisting list of all the possible reasons why, Cyrus was abruptly pulled out his thoughts and back into reality by a soft tap on his left shoulder, followed by a rather polite “Excuse me.” Startled, he briskly turned to face whoever was trying to get his attention. A girl with long blond hair, approximately his age or a little older, stood in front of him and began talking as soon as he made eye contact with her.

“Hi, sorry if I scared you but you look like you’re from here so I was wondering if you could help us,” she explained with a smile.

The “us” she was referring to consisted of her and the taller boy with light brown hair who was standing next to her, sporting a reluctant smile which signaled that he did not want to be part of this interaction. But the girl seemed nice, so Cyrus decided he would try to help. Only a few moments ago, he had been spiraling down some fairly unhealthy thoughts, but it only took a split second of hesitation before he returned their smile and replied:

“Sure, what do you guys need help with?”

“Do you know if there’s a Subway around here? It should be on this block but we’ve been walking around for like 20 minutes and we can’t find it,” she answered, her polite smile wavering as her despair became more obvious.

Although it didn’t show outwardly, Cyrus began to panic. He was _horrible_ with directions and he knew it. That’s the main reason he never really went anywhere without his trusted best friends, Andi and Buffy. Worst of all, he didn’t live in the area they were in. He was merely being dragged along by Andi on one of her surprisingly frequent craft supplies shopping sprees. But now that he had already committed to helping this girl and her decidedly silent companion, he felt too awkward to tell these tourists the truth about his less than exceptional navigational abilities. So instead of saying: “I’m sorry, I don’t know,” which he really didn’t, he kept trying to help.

“Um like which- which one do you need?” he asked her, as he uncomfortably shifted his all his weight to one foot.

The girl seemed confused by the question. She gave a questioning look to the boy next to her who only shrugged in response.

“Well uh, I don’t know, whichever one is closest. I didn’t know there more than one in the area,” she admitted, visibly annoyed now. Her response made Cyrus chuckle internally. She _had_ to have known that there was more than one subway line. It seemed like a no-brainer, even for a tourist.

“I mean… yeah, it depends where you wanna go. Do you have like an address?” he asked. Had he known what he was doing, he would have sent them to the nearest train station he knew of. But since he didn’t, he strategized to stall for as long as he could until they hopefully gave up or asked someone else. Unfortunately for him, despite her friend’s mildly uncomfortable silence, the girl seemed intent on getting a concrete answer out of him.

“No, we don’t have one. We didn’t think we’d need it. A friend told us there was a Subway on this street so I didn’t think it would be so hard to find. Could you just tell us if we’re supposed to go north or south?” Her tone was still polite, but growing increasingly forced. But Cyrus could tell that she wasn’t annoyed at him specifically, but frustrated with the situation as a whole. Now he was feeling awkward and guilty that he was being practically useless to these strangers. Suddenly, he felt unable to keep the charade going for much longer. After all, he only had to say north or south. Plus, he was sure that either way they would eventually stumble upon a subway station because as far as he knew, they were often not too far apart.

“Yeah okay. In that case, you should definitely go north,” he affirmed with all the fake certainty he could muster. He thought he was off the hook until the girl spoke again.

“So this way?” she asked, pointing in a general direction to their right. Now, more than ever, Cyrus wished Andi was still with him. She would have known what to do. For the first time since he’d started speaking to the stranger, he glanced across the street to find Andi looking down at her phone, waiting for him. He also noticed that the pedestrian light indicated that he could cross, so he decided to end this conversation as quickly as possible so he could escape to the other side of the street before the light went red again.

“Yup it’s that way,” he responded with more of the false confidence from his earlier reply, while vaguely gesturing to his right. The girl seemed satisfied with his answer and her face visibly relaxed as her smile became more genuine.

“Thank you! Thanks a lot,” she said while simultaneously beginning to drag her friend―or whatever he was―with her. “Have a great day!” she nearly shouted, already walking away, without waiting for Cyrus’ response.

Both relieved and a little panicked about what he’d just done, Cyrus wasted no time in crossing the street as fast as he possibly could until he reached Andi who was still on her phone. Needless to say, his encounter with the tourists had dissipated his anger towards his best friend, rendering all murder plots useless. Once he stood directly in front of her, Andi looked up at him and shoved her phone in her pocket.

“Who was that?” she inquired.

“Just some strangers. They were asking me for directions,” he responded, scratching the back of his head. Almost immediately, Andi’s eyebrows shot up.

“You? Giving directions? Since when-”

“Since never,” he interrupted her. “I panicked and just pretended I knew what I was talking about until they went away.” His tone was brusque and he clearly didn’t want to elaborate any further, which Andi must have noticed because she started walking again without a word, although Cyrus could tell she trying to suppress a chuckle. Still, grateful of her silence, he just followed her pace, sure to keep up with her this time to whatever thrift store they were headed to. As if his efforts to catch up with her had reminded her of what happened earlier, Andi turned to Cyrus to ask him about it.

“Hey, why did you run back? We were already in the middle of the street so you could have just run to the other side with me.” Her voice was soft and Cyrus couldn’t say that she was annoyed, just sincerely confused at his counterintuitive reaction. For his part, maybe he was no longer angry at her, but Cyrus wasn’t any more thrilled to discuss what he still felt was an embarrassing moment, so he didn’t. Instead, he looked away and just shrugged. Once again, Andi seemed to understand and didn’t pry. They had been walking in comfortable silence for only a few minutes before something caught Cyrus’ eye.

Subway.

The food franchise, not the mode of transportation. Cyrus stopped in his tracks, staring at the green sign as a wave of realization hitting him. _Maybe she was talking about the restaurant this whole time._ Then he thought about how confused she’d seemed when he asked her which subway line she wanted to take. Come to think of it, he hadn’t specified “subway line”. And when he asked her for the address she was headed to, she probably thought he meant the address of the restaurant.

Andi, who had noticed that he stopped walking, turned around and shot him a questioning look which he ignored as the _maybe_ in his head turned into a _most certainly_. He looked back to where he was walking from, now painfully aware that he sent two strangers in the very opposite direction of what they were looking for. He definitely messed this up for them. His only consolation was that they were clearly tourists visiting the city so there was no chance he’d run into them again. Right?


	2. Nice Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus runs into someone he's really trying to avoid.

_**One year later** _

A sleep-deprived Cyrus reluctantly drags his feet to his last period class. He is clearly having a bad day today. And as if that wasn’t enough, he has chemistry last. The mere thought of having to watch Mr. Wright dryly explaining how to do a stoichiometry problem while he fiddles with his pencil sends an involuntary groan down his throat. Cyrus isn’t usually quick to judge people, but two weeks into his senior year, he’d already decided that Mr. Wright must be the most boring person on this planet and that at best, this class would be a total waste of his time.

That’s probably what annoys him the most whenever he sits there wanting to be anywhere else. Lately, Cyrus finds himself running out of time so often that he can’t afford to waste any. For example, today is Friday so he should theoretically feel comforted by the quickly approaching relief of the weekend. In reality, he is anything but, because today is SAT prep day. Most people had taken the test once in the spring of their junior year, and maybe a second time during the summer, which Cyrus also had done. And yet despite scoring in the 1500s both times, he was determined to take the test one last time in October to make he sure he got as close to a perfect 1600 as he could. 

But now as he waits outside his chemistry class, leaning against the nearest locker, eyes closed, and running on a meager four hours of sleep, he begins to rethink his decision. Just as Cyrus begins to think that he might be able to take a nap standing up, Mr. Wright strolls into the classroom, no more excited to be there than his students. Cyrus senses the movement of his classmates going inside and switches to autopilot as he opens his eyes and follows everyone inside, hoping to get through the next 50 minutes without boring himself to death. 

To make matters worse, chemistry was the only class he didn’t share with at least one of his best friends, Andi and Buffy. As he looks up to the clock for the 1000th time, slumped in his chair with his chin resting on his hand, Cyrus can’t help but think about how much less agonizing this class could be if he could even steal a glance to one of his friends to silently communicate his despair. Cyrus looks at the clock again. It’s only been maybe 30 seconds since the last time. Right when he decides that this couldn’t get any worse, his stomach rumbles impossibly loudly as to prove him wrong.

Of course he’s hungry. Because he stayed up late last night doing the practice problems his private SAT tutor had assigned him for today, he had missed his morning alarm and was late to school, not that he is normally a morning person anyway. Per the school’s strictly enforced lateness policy, this meant that he could not leave the building to buy his lunch, so he was stuck with questionable cafeteria food. Buffy was kind enough to sneak in some fries for him when she’d gotten back from lunch outside with Marty, but if the second growl he’s hearing from his stomach is any indication, it wasn’t nearly enough. 

Already bored out of his mind, Cyrus sighs, seeing no additional harm in reminiscing the rest of this godawful day. Things had gone downhill after lunch. This year’s first bake sale for the student government was, to put it mildly, an epic fail. All because people can’t do the simple task of keeping their promises. As a result, they only brought about a quarter of the baked goods they said they would bring for the bake sale. To add insult to injury, two of the three people who had agreed to help Cyrus sell completely bailed. 

  


Even then, he hadn’t given up and was still hoping that he’d be able to pull it off and sell the limited amount of cookies and cupcakes he had. Unfortunately, today was Friday which meant that the longer lunch period and the fact people had more money early in the school year had incentivized a significant amount of the student population to eat outside. He can’t believe he wasted his free period trying.

Cyrus looks at the clock one more time. Ten minutes left. Mr. Wright is done lecturing and the students are left to work independently on a few problems. Though he couldn’t care less, Cyrus pretends to be working diligently because he still has to keep up his “good student” reputation. While he scribbles random numbers on the worksheet, Cyrus mentally makes a list of what he’s gonna do as soon class dismissed, reminding himself that every minute should be accounted for.

First, he’d run—or more realistically walk briskly—to his locker and dump his chemistry textbook and shove all the notes he’ll need for the weekend into his bookbag. On his way out, he’d probably run into Andi and Buffy and shout a goodbye at them. Maybe a quick hug. Then he’d rush to the train station and cross his fingers that the trains are running on schedule so that his twenty-minute commute to the Upper West Side goes as smoothly as possible.

If all goes to plan, he’ll be able to get a snack before his tutor arrives. After the session, he’d work on his college essay until dinner. Finally, he would FaceTime Buffy and Andi and they’d take turns complaining about the stresses of senior year. The weekly Good Hair Crew video call was the only thing he looking forward too, except that sandwich he may or may not have time for. If he wasn’t completely exhausted by then, maybe he’d get a headstart on his history project. But if he is being honest with himself, that was highly unlikely.

In the midst of all this mental planning, the bell rings, indicating the end of the period and of a dreadful school day for Cyrus. Nearly everything goes to plan, and he even gets to be in a group hug with Andi and Buffy who were conveniently waiting for him at his locker, aware of their friend’s earlier misfortunes. As the girls’ basketball team captain, Buffy has a meeting with the coach about this year’s tryouts after school and Andi is doing community service by helping the AP Art teacher, so they say their goodbyes and Cyrus promptly heads towards the exit, relieved that _something_ today is going right for once.

With his faith in the universe renewed, Cyrus walks in long strides towards the train station, fueled solely by the thought of a hypothetical sandwich. It was only a three-minute walk, but today Cyrus makes it in two. Since every member of the Good Hair Crew lives in a different part of the city and took a different train, Cyrus had gotten used to taking the train alone. He wastes no time in looking for his student MetroCard, having stored it in his wallet phone case which his friends jokingly teased him about whenever they got the chance. But he didn’t care because it did the job. Cyrus swipes his card and pushes against the turnstile in one swift motion. He looks up at the countdown clock. One minute until his train arrives. 

_Perfect. It looks like I’m having that sandwich after all._

He continues to walk along the platform towards the head of the train because he’d figured out a long time ago that the third subway car was closest to the exit when he got off at his stop. He’s almost there when he sees the train arriving. As he takes his last few steps, he notices a fairly group of teenage boys. Quite frankly, they’re being so loud that it’s hard to miss them. The boys are standing right in the area where Cyrus likes to board the train, causing him to roll his eyes when he realizes he’s about to be in an enclosed space with them. Still, he decides not to get any closer and positions himself to use the other door.

The train slows down to a stop and all the doors open. While waiting for the passengers to get off, Cyrus shot one more glance at the mob of testosterone who at least had the decency of splitting up so people could get through. 

That’s when Cyrus recognizes him. Actually, he’d recognize that head of blond hair any day, anywhere, anytime. Turns out, these guys go to his school. And they’re friends with him. Friends with Reed.

_Fuck._

Cyrus is not expecting to see him here. It’s easy enough to ignore a junior at school, but there aren’t that many people in the subway car at this time of the day. He can’t risk Reed seeing him. Who knows what he might do? Especially with his friends around…

In the meantime, people start to step into the train. Lost in his panic, Cyrus doesn’t realize that he’s blocking the way, but a quick shove from an impatient middle-aged woman pulls him out of his thoughts. A voice comes through the intercom: _Stand clear of the closing doors, please._ Cyrus’ body goes into flight mode. He was as determined to avoid Reed as he was to eat that sandwich today. So he runs to the first door of the closest car just as the doors close behind him.

For a moment, he thinks he’s escaped the worst. Cyrus goes to move forward because he hates standing in front of the doors, only to be yanked back by his backpack. He knows almost immediately what’s going on: his bag is stuck in between the doors. But before he even has time to struggle, someone steps directly in front of him and reaches over his head and pulls the double doors apart with both hands to force them open before taking a step back.

“Oh my God,” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. He is about to say something else when the train starts moving abruptly, sending Cyrus, who wasn’t holding on to the pole, stumbling to the side. He thinks he’s going to start falling for sure, but and hand firmly grasps his arm and brings him back to balance.

“Woah there,” his savior says, and for the first time, Cyrus looks up at him. _Woah,_ Cyrus thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Suddenly, he is very aware of the stranger’s lingering grip on his arm and the vague scent of citrus that was definitely not coming from him. 

The boy in front of him clears his throat and Cyrus realizes that he’s staring but he can’t help it. His eyes are just so… so _green,_ and he was standing so close. After a moment, however, he looks away and collects himself enough to grab the nearest pole and straighten his posture with the little bit of dignity he had left. The other boy lets go of his arm and moves a reasonable distance away.

“You okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

“Um yeah. I- I’m okay. Thanks for...you know, thanks for the help,” Cyrus responds, trying his hardest to smile in the least awkward way possible. He feels the heat of embarrassment rise to his cheek and stares at his feet.

“Yeah, no problem.” Cyrus doesn’t know what to respond, so he doesn’t. 

At the next stop, a seat empties next to where the boy was standing. He nudges Cyrus and motions towards the seat with his head.

“You wanna sit?” he asks.

“Sure, thanks,” Cyrus replies before taking off his backpack and sliding into the seat. Now that it was clear to him that he wouldn’t be making conversation with the other boy, he pulls out his headphones from his pocket, plugs it into his phone, and puts Troye Sivan on shuffle. It actually isn’t that unusual. New Yorkers in public transportation are quite impersonal, and people tend to be on their phones, listening to music or playing games during their commute. In fact, it would have been weird he’d attempted to start a conversation. He is a stranger, after all. A nice one, but still a stranger.

After a few stops, the “nice stranger”, as Cyrus begins to call him in his mind, gets off the train. Cyrus feels his body relax immediately and he takes a deep breath. Somehow, this triggers another growl in his stomach which reminds him of everything that happened in the day before his most recent incident. Inevitably, he is reminded of Reed and his obnoxious friends.

How had he forgotten? Forgotten that Reed also takes this train? He then remembers that a lot had changed over the summer. He probably wasn’t paying attention to it before, but he definitely knew that Reed took this train too. It’s just that it hadn’t been a problem before. 

But everything is different now and he knows that too. He also knows that he can’t allow a repeat of what happened today. Sure, it wasn’t a guarantee that Reed and his friends would catch the same train as him every time, but the very possibility of it happening made Cyrus’ palms sweaty. No way. He couldn’t afford it.

On his way home, Cyrus decides to stop getting into the third subway car altogether. There was no doubt in his mind that taking a few extra steps to the exit was worth reducing the risk of running into the blond to zero. And who knows? Maybe it would increase his chances of running into someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to know, Cyrus gets his sandwich in the end :D

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave kudos or a comment. It'll be greatly appreciated. My tumblr is tyrusquacks if anyone wants to follow me there.


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